


Time is Fleeting

by Draycevixen



Category: Forever (TV), Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Chocolate Box Exchange, Crossover, Denial of Feelings, Introspection, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-19 21:20:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5981317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draycevixen/pseuds/Draycevixen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once, Henry had thought that with the passage of time he’d become indifferent to his losses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time is Fleeting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ArgylePirateWD](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgylePirateWD/gifts).



Once, Henry had thought that with the passage of time he’d become indifferent to his losses. Every book he'd ever read, every film he’d ever seen about immortality intimated he would come to see humans as merely something he once was, little more than flickering shadows cast on his infinite lifetime. But as Lord Byron had written, truth was stranger than fiction, often uglier as well. 

The truth was that he still felt every loss deeply, the people he’d loved far too dear to him to ever fade into mere shadows. His initial solution had been to refuse to love anymore but it was a ridiculous fiction he'd told himself and something no one had any real control over, not without ceasing to feel altogether. He might as well try to turn back the tide– the image of a thoroughly soggy King Canute had amused him since his childhood. 

Instead, he endured. He endured because the joy was always worth the pain. Without Abe, without Abigail, his existence would have been a miserable one. Without his friends, what would he be? Time might march on but humans were still made of the same stuff, still with the same basic needs, wants, desires and aspirations. He was no exception and would never want to be. 

Afterall, what had made Adam dangerous was his lack of human contact. Underlying his anger at Adam, he'd felt sorry for him, for his inability to understand what was really important and his inevitable ennui. For Henry, there were always new joys to be discovered, new ideas to explore and new people to interact with. He might be effectively immortal but he still would never be able to read every book or see every great work of art, would never be able to witness every example of mankind at its best. He'd struggled with his conscience before taking action against Adam but in the end there'd simply been no choice. He feared not only for his loved ones but for humanity if Adam were not stopped. His solution had been efficient, if not particularly elegant, and had gone exactly to plan. He hoped with time he'd find peace with it. 

 

The first sign that things hadn't gone exactly to plan came a month later, when Lucas let it slip he'd heard there was an FBI agent interested in Adam's personal belongings. 

"Why on earth would an FBI agent be interested?"

"Don't know." Lucas continued to unpack his lunch onto his desk. "From upstate somewhere and real insistent about seeing Adam's stuff right now." Lucas smiled. "Then there's the guy who looks like a cosplayer's wet dream."

"A what?"

"A wet dream, when you—"

"I know what that is, Lucas, I meant the other thing you mentioned."

"Cosplayer? One of those guys who go to comic conventions dressed up like a fictional character. It's a great costume, long coat, puffy shirt, britches and boots." Lucas' smile got even bigger. "He makes it look real good."

Anyone looking for Adam's belongings that looked like one these 'cosplayers' Lucas was describing was probably bad news, very bad news. 

"Where is this agent and his cosplayer friend now?"

" _Her_ friend. Don't be sexist, dude."

"Lucas..."

"Sorry, boss. She was on the way to the evidence room last time I saw her."

She wouldn't find anything of value there but he couldn't be completely sure of that. 

"I heard her tell the lieutenant that they'd been to see Adam in the care facility. Don't know why, not like she could interrogate him in his condition."

 

He didn't as a general rule lurk, he wasn't built for it, but he gave it his best effort in the stairwell end of the corridor the evidence room was on. He needed to see the FBI agent and her companion for himself. She was the first to emerge, a beautiful young woman in a tailored pant suit, followed almost immediately by a tall, very handsome man in period perfect Revolutionary War era clothing. Lucas was wrong. No way in hell was this a cosplayer. Perhaps he and Adam were not alone. Perhaps he and Abe were going to have to move again after all. As the pair headed off, he ducked back into the stairwell. He was two flights down when it finally sunk in what had seemed so familiar about Lucas' expression when he'd been describing the cosplayer. Lucas had been attracted to the tall stranger. He sat down abruptly on the steps. 

While medical careers attracted more societal misfits than anyone might rightly expect, they were not in general enthusiasts, inclined far more to the jaded and cynical. Yet Lucas was so engaged with the world and had never seemed to have lost his sense of wonder. Of course, when you had a 75 year old son it was difficult not to see Lucas as still a child in many ways but he certainly wasn’t that. He'd been all too aware that Lucas was a grown-man, given the way he’d felt attracted to him, but thinking of him as a child had allowed Henry to keep a suitable distance. 

He’d be the first to admit that while times had changed he’d been slow to change with them. He believed in monogamy and disapproved in theory at least of casual sex. But then all sex ended up in actuality being casual to a certain degree when you knew you were going to outlive every partner you ever had. 

Unfortunately, Lucas’s obvious regard for him, his none too subtle attempts to court Henry’s attention and to win his regard, had been flattering to say the least. The way Lucas looked at him sometimes had him on the verge of blushing. Henry had the usual human flaws and everyone liked to be admired, surely? But a crush on a mentor was an all too common experience that people weathered precisely because their mentor didn’t take advantage. No, if he could have been certain Lucas' attraction to him was more than just infatuation he might have been tempted but without evidence to the contrary, no harm done and he'd never be improper enough to act upon it. 

 

He'd returned to the lab and continued his work on the late Mr. Albright with able assistance from Lucas. When Lieutenant Reece arrived with the FBI agent and her cosplayer in tow he’d had his hands full of Mr. Albright's small intestine and they'd had to wait for him to reach a convenient stopping point. Then, Lieutenant Reece had introduced them all. 

"We've been filled in on the circumstances surrounding the arrest of the serial killer known only as 'Adam' so we won't waste your time by asking you any further questions."

He took an instant liking to Agent Mills. 

"But we need to see the knife—"

"Pugio," he chorused along with Mr. Crane. Him, he wasn't so sure about.

"—Pugio that was in his possession."

"Why?" 

Mr. Crane and Agent Mills exchanged meaningful glances. Now if only they would share that meaning with him. 

"We believe Adam may have used the pugio in commission of another murder. Upstate." Mr. Crane looked very pleased with himself and so was obviously lying to him. 

"We examined the pugio thoroughly at the time Adam was apprehended. It was free of any trace evidence." It was always best to stick with the truth.

"The pugio in the evidence box is not the one we were looking for."

Everyone turned to look at Mr. Crane. Judging by the way Agent Mills was glaring at him he wasn't supposed to have shared that particular piece of information. Agent Mills turned back to Lieutenant Reece.

"Is it possible there were two knives—" She glared at Mr. Crane who was evidently about to interrupt her "—pugios or that the chain of evidence might have been broken?"

"I don't know how they do things in the FBI, Agent Mills, but here we follow protocol exactly." Lieutenant Reece wasn't going to let her people be insulted and Henry was proud of her for it. 

But of course the pugio in the evidence box wasn't the real one. He'd taken the precaution of replacing it with another within hours of his return to his lab.

"We didn't mean to give offence, Lieutenant Reece." Crane actually bowed.

Lieutenant Reece stood a little straighter in that way people did when someone attractive was around. He wouldn't mind so much but Lucas had also lost his usually permanent slouch. 

"He's more formal than you are." Until everyone turned to look at him Lucas seemed unaware he'd said it out loud. 

"Yes, quite." He nodded at Crane, who nodded back. "Well, Lucas and I really need to get back to our autopsy if that's quite all?"

It looked like Agent Mills wanted to say something more but stopped when Crane rested his hand on her elbow. "Sorry to have disturbed you, Doctor Morgan." 

After the standard farewells, they left and he returned to the contents of Mr. Albright's stomach. 

 

After a couple of hours, he'd got tired of listening to Lucas moon over Crane and sent him home, waspishly claiming that he planned to do some paperwork and that Lucas' presence was no longer required. 

He'd had to admit to himself during the subway ride home that Lucas hadn't been mooning so much as speculating over Crane's role within the FBI, it was just his own bruised ego that chose to call it mooning. 

 

When he let himself into the store, Abe was just coming up from the basement, three bottles of wine in his arms. 

"There you are and about time."

"Good evening to you too, Abe."

"Sorry, sorry, I just wasn't expecting company for dinner." 

Abe had turned and bustled off to the apartment before he could ask who this company might be so he hurried after him, shedding his coat on the stairs. 

Sat around the dining room table were Jo, Agent Mills and Mr. Crane who stood up immediately to greet him formally but Abe waved at him to sit back down. 

"We don't stand on ceremony around here, Ichabod." Abe went to check on the food and in turn waved Henry off when he tried to follow him. "Entertain our guests."

He wondered for a moment if he should dance a jig but then decided his blood sugar must be low and went to join the others at the table. 

"Jo, Agent Mills, Mr. Crane." He nodded at each of them and briefly enjoyed Crane's discomfort at having been "ordered" to remain seated by Abe when good manners dictated that he should have stood up to shake Henry's hand. 

"Please, Dr. Morgan, Abbie and Ichabod." Abbie smiled at him. 

"Henry. Please call me Henry." He started to open one of the bottles of wine Abe had brought up from the cellar, just to be busy. "I wasn't expecting to see you again." 

He looked pointedly at Jo who just smiled innocently at him, like that was going to work. 

"I understand you all met earlier, in the morgue."

Why had Jo brought them here? "That’s correct, Jo. I was sorry I couldn't be of more help." 

He poured wine for his guests.

"You recently shared a secret with me, Henry."

Surely Jo wouldn't tell Abbie and Ichabod about him? 

"And now I have to share one with you." Jo sat up straighter. "I'm a descendent of Betsy Ross."

" _The_ Betsy Ross? That's absolutely fascinating but I don't quite understand—"

"And every member of my family has been pledged since to aid the Witnesses in any way we can."

"The Witnesses?"

"If you think your story is strange, Henry, it's going to take a lot more wine to tell this one."

"But Jo—"

"Henry, trust me. Abbie and Ichabod are willing to trust you just on my say-so. They'll tell you their story first and then it's up to you to decide whether or not to share yours."

He'd trusted her enough to tell her, upon Abe's urging. The least he could do was listen to them. "All right, Jo."

Over a very good dinner and a lot more wine, Abbie and Ichabod told him a story so ludicrous that if it wasn't for the ludicrousness of his own story, the scientist in him would have laughed them out of his apartment. But if there was one thing being alive for almost 200 years had taught him it was to recognize the truth when he heard it, no matter how strange and this truth was awfully bloody strange. It was a story of demons and dark forces and sacrificing everything to save the world, over and over again. It was edge of the seat stuff, the Brothers Grimm could have taken notes. He'd strived to be a good man all his life, to heal, to help, but he'd never tried to save the whole world, only tried to improve his corner of it. 

Ichabod leaned in closer. "I know how fantastical this must all sound to you, Henry, and how difficult it must be to believe us—"

"I died for the first time in 1814." That brought conversation to a halt. He could have heard the proverbial pin drop if Abe hadn't been playing some of his infernal jazz music in the background. 

"Dad's telling the truth."

Ichabod scrambled to his feet so fast he knocked over his chair in the process. 

"Sit down, Ichabod, I promise you it's alright." Jo laid her hand on Abe's arm. "Abe's just as human as, well, Abbie or me. Henry was a doctor in World War II when he found Abe as a baby and adopted him."

Ichabod sat down but was still obviously shaken up as he drained the rest of the wine remaining in his glass.

"Your turn, Ichabod." Abbie offered him what was left in her wine glass and he drained that too. 

"I died in 1781 but thanks to my wife being a witch I returned to the land of the living three years ago."

"He's only mostly dead." Abbie was the only one to laugh at Abe's quote. "Tough crowd. I'll open some more wine."

Henry had always wondered what it would be like to meet someone like himself who wasn't psychotic. "So you're like Adam and me."

Ichabod nodded his thanks as Abe refilled his glass. "I'm not entirely sure of course but I don't think so, not exactly. My life span was interrupted, if you will, but I have no reason to think I'm immortal."

"I would like to think I'm not immortal either but I still don't know why I keep coming back to life. At least Adam had a theory about what might permanently end our lives but it wasn't correct."

"What was his theory?" 

Jo was the last one he would have expected to ask that question but then she'd dealt with his revelation by distancing herself from him. He'd been sad initially but understood it could have gone much worse. Now of course he understood that she had other reasons to keep her distance, probably craving something more predictable in her personal life. Betsy Ross indeed. 

"That it was possible we might be rendered permanently dead—" he smiled at Abe who tilted his head in acknowledgement "—by the weapon that brought about our first death. In my case, a flintlock pistol and in his case—"

"The pugio." The hopeful look on Ichabod's face made him look ten years younger. 

"Indeed." 

"So you do have it."

He nodded.

"There's a prophesy about a Roman knife that brought immortality and we have to find it."

"And you believe it's Adam's knife?"

"There’s a strong possibility. Yes." He suspected Ichabod would always look uncomfortable and somewhat constipated when not completely sure of his facts. "The thing is, the prophecy isn't completely clear as to whether it's just the pugio itself that's Roman or whether the person it rendered immortal was Roman."

"It's actually both. Adam claimed to be over 2,000 years old and I have no reason to disbelieve him."

"We really need that knife, Henry."

"Then, the pugio is yours." It didn't escape his notice how much Jo and Abbie were enjoying his implied correction of Ichabod’s use of the word ‘knife.’ 

Ichabod stood up. "Might we?"

Ichabod behaving in such an ungracious manner just served to underline how pressing their need of the pugio must be. "Of course. It's in the basement."

He led the way with Ichabod close on his heels. 

 

Some of Ichabod's urgency dampened the moment he saw Henry's lab. Here was a like mind as Ichabod asked question after question about his specimens. 

"What do you study?"

"Death, mainly. It's a subject very close to my heart."

"What about living, Henry?" Ichabod drew himself up to his full height. "Please accept my apology that was unforgivably rude of me."

"It's all right, Ichabod. I have Abe of course and contrary to how it might appear I do have a life outside my work."

"Are you and Jo perhaps?"

"No, we're just friends." Unlike Abe, he'd never expected any other outcome once he'd told Jo the truth yet he'd still been hopeful. She was beautiful, intelligent and self-reliant but also somewhat jaded. They both needed someone more optimistic and hopeful in their lives, someone like Lucas. Another uncomfortable thought, even if it was hardly a revelation to him. 

"Never underestimate the value of friendship, Henry."

"I never would, I have so few of them." And Lucas wanted to join that list, wanted it so badly. 

"Is there anyone?" Ichabod looked flustered. "I fear I may have had too much to drink."

"No one it would be appropriate to be involved with."

"Because of your immortality?"

"Because of propriety." He didn't think there was much point in trying to discuss Human Resources rulings with Ichabod and anyway, in the end, it was his own sense of propriety that stopped him from making a move. 

"I rather like how modern society has loosened its stays on the subject of dating. Please don't tell Abbie I said that." 

"Don't tell Abbie you said what?" She'd joined them in the basement without their noticing.

"...That I think drive-through doughnuts are terribly convenient."

"All right, don't tell me what you were talking about." She walked further into the room, taking in the sights around her. "You two really are kindred spirits. I'm sorry to hurry this along, guys, but we should really get going, if you have the pugio, Henry."

"Please excuse the delay." Henry retrieved it from where he had it wrapped in cloth in the safe and handed it over to Ichabod. "If you ever have need of someone who as far as he knows cannot die..."

"Thank you, Henry." Abbie grinned at him. "We'll keep that in mind."

 

Unfortunately, immortality did not spare him from the consequences of immoderate drinking. He didn't usually use the word 'fragile' to describe himself but that's how he felt as he crept into his blessedly quiet office. He logged into his computer, ready to finalize his report on Mr. Albright's death in the meantime supporting his head with one hand, hoping the office might soon stop spinning. 

A hand suddenly appeared under his face bearing a mug of steaming hot black coffee. 

"Abe called to say you might need this." It was the quietest he'd ever heard Lucas speak.

Abe had proved yet again that he was the best son in the world. He grabbed the coffee with both hands in case it turned out to be a mirage. 

"Easy there, doc, it's hot."

He swallowed some of the coffee despite its temperature and groaned his appreciation. 

"Rough night? Sorry, I shouldn't ask."

"A dinner party with friends where rather more wine than was strictly advisable was consumed."

"You threw a dinner party for your friends?"

He might be hung-over, there he admitted it, but he wasn't far gone enough not to recognize the hurt in Lucas' voice.

"It was an impromptu affair. Jo brought Agent Mills and Mr. Crane over to the shop to ask more questions and Abe invited them all to stay for dinner."

"Right." Lucas leaned in closer. "We should go out to dinner sometime, just you and me I mean."

Lucas sounded nervous, like he'd just asked him to prom. He had a sudden image of Lucas showing up at the shop with a corsage and Abe taking their picture together. He really had had far too much to drink. 

Going to dinner with Lucas actually sounded like a wonderful idea. "It's a terrible idea, Lucas."

"I figure we both have to eat."

"Lucas." He tried to embody that one word with the depth of his regret. He doubted very much that he'd managed to convey it when Lucas' face fell. "I'm sorry."

"If you're not interested, you're not interested."

"I don't think it's appropriate."

"That's not the same thing at all."

He was two hundred years older than Lucas. "I'm older than you."

"Five, six years? It's not like I'm underage, boss."

"And there’s that, I'm your boss as you just pointed out."

"Yeah?"

"That's why it's inappropriate." 

"If you're just trying to let me down easy, say so, but that's nothing. We could just see where it goes. If it goes nowhere, no harm no foul and we can still work together."

"And if it goes badly?" One of them had to be a realist. 

"Then we do the same as we might have to do if it goes really well. I'll get a different boss. You may be the best pathologist in the city but this is New York, you're a long way from being the only one."

Perhaps Ichabod was right and it was time to, as it were, loosen his stays. "All right."

"All right as in 'we're alone and Lucas has always had a fantasy about spreading me out naked across my desk that he’d like to try out?" Lucas grinned at Henry's audible gasp.

Henry prided himself on his imagination which had supplied the images to go with Lucas' proposal the moment he'd spoken. "No. All right as in 'let's have dinner and see where it goes.'" 

He stood up and walked around the desk, heading for the lab, aware that Lucas was following him closely. "But I'll probably have you for dessert." 

He took immense satisfaction in Lucas walking into the doorframe. This was going to be fun.


End file.
